Wands, Wizards and Witchcraft
by Constantine1453
Summary: Two years after the Final Battle, Harry Potter had hoped to settle down. But now wizards are disappearing, the Ministry is in an uproar, and Harry must once again face a growing evil. Features both Harry and Percy. Slash (not HarryPercy)
1. Prologue : Rain

Wands, Wizards and Witchcraft  
  
Prologue : Rain  


  
Disclaimer : This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
  
The rain thundered into the ground, sheeting down in torrents. Great cracks of lightening lit the boiling sky, illuminating the earth as a lone figure ran ragged across the rolling hills. He was tall and aristocratic looking, but a madness gripped, seemingly chased by invisible demons. His cloak whipped out behind him, and his long stringy blond hair matted across his face, making it even more difficult to see.   
  
He knew where he was going, however, and ran towards his goal with single-minded purpose. His feet pounded against the soaked grass, the man oblivious to the tipped over gravestone laying directly in his path. With a cry, his foot struck it and he fell head over heels into the short grass, and he struggled to pull his cloak from around his ankles and get back on his feet. He cursed the grave, but even as he did so, he ran again, harder this time. His breath came raggedly, and his feet finally hit a gravel path that lead up the sloping hill.  
  
The house on the hill stood like a bulwark against the fierce storm surrounding it. Old and battered, soft light poured out of an upstairs room. A shadowy figure stood at the window, and the man stopped just outside the rusted gate and stared at the figure for a long minute, catching his breath. He started to laugh, softly at first, but growing louder and stronger at every second. He'd survived Azkaban. He was free, and could do anything. But the call had come, he'd felt the burning on his arm, even after the tattoo had started to fade. So he'd come. He stood, and walked to the door, careful to be presentable, even though none of that mattered now.  
  
His hand gripped the cold handle of the wooden door, the wind whipping around his pale hand. He knocked. A dull ring echoed through the house, and the door opened, letting the two darkness pour into each other. He stepped over the threshold, the door closing behind him. The silence was oppressive, and he winced at the creaking boards as he made his way through the darkness, able to see only by the occasional crash of lightning.  
  
Without warning, a strong hand gripped his shoulder tightly, pain shooting through his body. He closed his eyes, willing the pain down to his feet. Ever so slowly the pain subsided, and he was able to go forward. The hand pushed him forward, and he went where he was told, unable to waver or change direction. Now that he was here, he didn't have a very good idea of what to expect, only that he was meeting someone, and that his contact would be able to help him.  
  
The grip shifted slightly, and then let go. They had gone up the staircase, and down a right passageway. He was curious, very curious as to what was going to happen next. He was in a room, he was sure of that. No light filtered through the windows, and he smelt a distinct pungent odor coming from his left. He moved away from it, and his foot caught on something. He put his hand out in front of him, and caught the warm shoulder of someone sitting down.   
  
A light bloomed into life in front of him, warming the room. The room was large and depressing, with moldy, running wallpaper and a couple of tattered chairs.   
  
The man sitting in the chair itself wasn't very different from the average man who you'd meet on the street - he was of medium height, medium build, and had brown hair. He was about as ordinary as you could get. However, there seemed to be a presence and power about him that made Lucius' skin tingle.   
  
Malfoy, I see you came, the man said to him, standing. Malfoy looked at him like he was some sort of master of the obvious, and opened his mouth to tell him so, but the man stopped him. You came because I told you to come. I said you were meeting someone, and that someone is me.  
  
Lucius laughed - he couldn't believe that he'd come all the way from Azkaban for this stupid imbecile. The man muttered something, and a second later Lucius was on the writhing painfully on the ground, clutching his stomach, trying not to cry out from the pain of the Cruciatus Curse that hit him.  
  
The very fact that I can do that, Mister Malfoy, and not show any remorse or have any fear of reprisal from you should tell you something. Focus though the pain. Focus on my voice. The man stood over him, watching him squirm.  
  
Lucius found himself releasing the grip on his body ever so slowly as the strange man spoke. The pain was still there, but he found that as he focused, he could shift the pain, control it. He blinked as the pain fell completely from his body, and suddenly he roared up into a crouch, wand at the ready. Curses flew from the tip of his wand, a rainbow of colors and flavors, and they surged across the room towards the man.   
  
After a full three minutes, Lucius let up, and stood, brushing himself off. He blinked, as the man hadn't moved, and all of his curses and spells were being moved around his body by the man's hands, almost as if he was painting a picture. They swirled faster and faster around him, and then grew smaller and more compact until they were focused into a sheer point of light, which he blew out.   
  
Are you done with that display? The man asked Lucius, clearly expressing his annoyance. There are far more productive things that we can be doing than playing who's got the bigger wand'.  
  
Like what? Lucius asked, clearly interested in what the man had to say - those curses had gotten much of Lucius' anger out of his system, and relieved that he hadn't had to defend himself against the clearly stronger wizard. He did wonder who this man was that was so powerful.  
  
Revenge. It's been two years since your Master's downfall, and four since you've languished in Azkaban, under the Ministry's not so watchful eye. Your wife is insane, living out a fantasy world of house elves and power. Your son is fucking the Potter boy...or the Potter boy is fucking him, the _Daily Prophet_ isn't quite clear on that point. What do you have to lose, Malfoy? The man asked more forcefully, eyes bearing down on Lucius, his face twisted into cold anger.   
  
Lucius was overwhelmed with images of Narcissa playing hostess to phantom guests, her blonde hair glistening in the candlelight, of Draco, smiling and begging for it, biting his lip as Potter took him roughly, of Draco kissing Potter under a street lamp. His fists clenched, and anger welled up inside of him. Lucius knew what he must do, the only choice that he could make.   
  
What must I do? Lucius asked hungrily , staring into those brown eyes intently, his voice and will determined to seek revenge on those that betrayed him.  
  
The strange man laughed, and touched the Dark Mark on Lucius's left arm and Disapparated. Seconds later Lucius felt a pulling sensation, as if he was called to be somewhere. After a moment, he _popped_ out of the room, leaving it as empty as it had been for almost 5 years.  
  
  
  
Author's Note : Please Review. There will be a new chapter every two weeks, so the next chapter will be uploaded here on Saturday, Nov. 29th. If you'd like to be reminded of this, please leave your e-mail in your review. Many thanks for reading!


	2. Reports

Wands, Wizards & Witchcraft   
Chapter One : Reports  
  


Disclaimer : This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
  
_  
Harry was running through fields of clover, joyous at the warm summer sun. He was shirtless, and he felt the sun upon his strong back as he ran up and down the gently rolling hills. Harry ran towards a distant dot on the horizon, as if he was being called, pulled towards it. He never tired of running, in fact he felt himself get stronger as he ran. The dot grew slowly larger, gaining distinctive features, blond hair slightly longer than Draco's usual cut, tall, skinny, and chiseled features with a nose ever so slightly too big for his face. He too was shirtless, and his arms outstretched to greet Harry. Harry leaped into the air, flying through the slight breeze, landing right before Draco. They embraced, and kissed tenderly, Harry pushing Draco down into the stubbly clover. Suddenly, something slammed into the back of his head with bludger-like intensity, and he shook his head, dazed. Draco smiled, batted his eyelashes, and then pulled Harry back down. Just as Harry melted into the warmth of Draco's mouth, another punch knocked the wind out of him. Harry! Wake up Harry Draco told him, raising his arm for another blow as he started to dissolve into consciousness...   
_  
Harry grabbed the other boy's arm before he could do anymore damage to Harry's head with a large pillow. Draco struggled, his other arm flailing wildly around, punching Harry when he could. Harry used his other hand to grab Draco's and pulled him onto the bed on top of him. They wrestled, each one trying to gain dominance over the other. Draco thrashed under Harry, now on top of him, furious. He kicked Harry in the leg once, and then stopped struggling. Harry tentatively released one arm and then the other, and pushed Draco off of him. They both were breathing hard, and Harry wiped some spit off the corner of his mouth.  
  
What in Merlin's name was that for, Draco? Harry asked, checking to see if he was bleeding anywhere. Draco, clad in boxers and a tight t-shirt with Python' printed on the front and the crest of Slytherin house on the back hurriedly started to pull the bedclothes up.  
  
You're late for work, Draco said crisply, glaring at his boyfriend, and fluffing the pillows. There was clearly more to it than that, but Harry really couldn't be bothered when he took a look at the clock beside his bed, which read _You're late for work again, dunderhead!' _in big gold letters. Draco's anger could wait, after all if he couldn't get to work and he was fired, then who knows what kind of mischief he might get up to with Draco. Discarding that thought by fumbling through his drawers to find clothes to wear, Draco simply tapped him on the shoulder and pointed sharply to his uniform all neatly laid out. Harry grabbed his clothes and ran into the bathroom.  
  
A minute later, Harry stood under the hot shower when Draco came in, holding a copy of the day's _Daily Prophet_ in his hand.   
  
Potter, care to explain this? Draco asked, his lips tight and his voice controlled. Harry shut off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped out of the shower. He slipped on his glasses, and then looked at the newspaper. Page fifteen, Draco said tersely, folding his arms. Harry flipped to the editorial section, and scanned the page. he asked, grabbing his towel and drying off.  
  
That set Draco off, as there was nothing, nothing that infuriated him more than someone not showing interest. He could have dealt with angry Harry, or sad Harry, but indifferent Harry wasn't anything he could take. So? So? Harry, don't you realize what this could do to your career?  
  
_Yes, Draco, I have, and I don't care, _Harry told himself, wishing he could say it. Draco, I don't want to hear about the abnormalities of my life this early in the morning. I've too much to think about, and I'm late for work!  
  
With that, he shoved Draco out of the bathroom, and locked the door. Draco started to bang on the door, very loudly. Potter, what is this? Do you have a girlfriend on the side? Would that make you happier, if you were normal and had a cute witch to carry out on your arm, rather than being voted the most eligible bachelor three years in a row? Harry very carefully buttoned up his gray shirt, letting Draco's words just was over him, trying not to get upset. He stumbled on the last button though. You're so smug, thinking that I'm just the oblivious little boyfriend, and I won't notice what's going on. Harry, breathing ever so slightly more heavily now, pulled on his black pants, and buttoned them.  
  
Draco continued his tirade outside the door. Don't you think I notice you've been distant recently? When we've been together you've-- It was at that moment, after Harry had just finished attempting to run a comb through his hair, that he decided that he'd had enough. He unlocked the door, threw it open, and lunged on top of Draco, knocking him onto the bed. He dived into Draco's mouth, searching him, fighting for control. After a stunned moment, Draco fought back, his nails digging into the cotton of Harry's shirt. Harry pulled away from Draco, straightening his shirt. He grabbed the _Daily Prophet_ from the bed, and with all the energy he could muster, tore the paper in two and threw it at Draco's feet.  
  
Harry filled the close silence. I've been what, Draco? I love you. These women mean nothing, and it's just the _Prophet_'s way of trying to push me around. You've read the garbage they print, right? Draco looked unconvinced, so Harry slipped his sleekly muscled arm around his shoulders, and hugged him close. I love you, Draco. I'm with you. Nothing else matters, right? Harry turned walked out of the bedroom, grabbed his satchel and an apple, and left the flat.   
  
Draco said to no one in particular, then why don't you show it, Harry?   
  


*****  


  
Kingsley Shaklebolt stood at the end of a long table, glaring at his watch, and then at the door. He was forcing himself not to explode when Harry came to work late, again. He ran his hand over his head, feeling the warm skin under his fingers in frustration. Nine other Aurors sat around the table, each of them looking slightly perturbed that they had to wait on Harry, after all, they all had more important things to do.  
  
At exactly twelve past nine, Harry came skidding into the office, knocking over the cloak-rack beside the door, and immediately started apologizing, his mouth running at a mile a minute.  
  
I'm sorry I'm late, again. My roommate forgot to wake me up again - I'd been on a date last night with this witch from Manchester, and I got in late. You should have seen her, Shaklebolt, she was so amazing... his voice trailed off as he realized that he was trying to unfasten his cloak and hitch it on the rack at the same time.   
  
Although the other nine Aurors were put off, they were openly laughing at him, and he smiled sheepishly back, finished unfastening his cloak, and sat down at the table, taking a sip of his now cold coffee as he did so.. Harry folded his hands, and smiled at Kingsley, batting his eyelashes.  
  
Kingsley could hardly suppress a snort. He said in reply Potter, I want to see you in my office as soon as this meeting is over. The next half-hour was spent discussing the progress of all of their cases; Harry was involved in a murder investigation that had him calling out to Los Angeles of all places. After Kingsley made sure that everyone was on the same page, they all drifted to their desks to try to bite into the mounds of paperwork that had seemingly mysteriously arose during the night. Harry followed Kingsley into his office, where he shut the door behind him. The day behind him was bright and sunny in one window and dark and stormy in another.  
  
Kingsley sat on the edge of the desk, and motioned to Harry to take the seat opposite him. Potter, you've got to stop this. He spoke carefully, fully aware of the famous Potter temper.  
  
Harry had rehearsed this moment in his head very well over the past half hour, and he said automatically, I'll never be late again, sir.  
  
Shaklebolt was confused, and pulled out the current Daily Prophet. He opened it to the Editorial section, folded it, and wordlessly pointed to a small column. Harry took it, and began to read.  
  
POTTER & MALFOY : ROOMMATES OR MORE??   
  
by : M. Skantor   
  
We here at the Daily Prophet are shocked and dismayed to learn that Harry Potter, the very Boy Who Lived And Defeated You-Know-Who, enjoys the company of other men, in a way that this newspaper simply cannot print and finds extremely distasteful. It is not enough that Potter must be the standard bearer of the current generation of wizards by defeating You-Know-WHo, but he must also set an example of family life, settling down and having a family. The _Prophet_ calls upon Potter to stop this sham, to stop having cover' girlfriends, and come clean about his lifestyle, and seek help for this most awful of sicknesses. We of the wizarding world do not have time for non-procreative relationships; our population is far too small, and it simply isn't done. Notoriously, George Weasley of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and Seamus Finnigan are flaunting themselves, and this reporter finds this behavior in extreme distaste. If Potter is indeed seeing someone, (and if the rumor of it being his flatmate, Draco Malfoy is true) then something must be done, and Potter must be encouraged to cast off this lifestyle and settle down with a nice witch.  
  
As he read the editorial for the second time today, his earlier shrug-it-off mood dissipated, like so many leaves in an October storm, replaced by an anger that he hadn't felt in a while. Why _couldn't_ he be happy with a girl? Why did he _have_ to like boys, and not only boys, Draco Malfoy? More than anything, an overriding desire to hurt the _Prophet_'s reporter grew inside of him, and gripped the paper with more intensity.  
  
Kingsley watched as Harry's face twisted, and he wisely walked over to the door and stood in front of it, even as Harry stood to leave. Harry had to look up at Kingsley, and his green eyes were a fire storm of fury. Let me pass, sir. Harry spat the last word out.   
  
No. Sit down, Potter, Kingsley commanded, and reluctantly Harry obeyed. Is it true? He asked, and saw that Harry immediately tensed up, his fists balling up.  
  
Harry laughed loudly. No, of course not, Shacklebolt, what do you take me for? He got up to leave, and again Kingsley stopped him. Potter, whatever you may think of the Daily Prophet I hope you don't put too much stock in what they say about you, Malfoy or anyone else. Remember the Lovegood debacle last spring? Harry did; in fact, the editor-in-chief of the Prophet resigned over the scandal, just to get the Lovegood's off of the paper's back.  
  
A knock on Shacklebolt's door came at that moment. Come in, Kingsley told the door, and it opened. Tonks and Nitemar walked in together, dressed in battle robes. We're off, sir. Nitemar said, her pale face very serious.   
  
Good. I want the two of you to report back in three days time. Find him and bring him back. Kingsley was sending the two of them to try and locate Lucius Malfoy and bring him back to Azkaban. The Aurors had kept his escape a secret for a couple of days now, and they wanted to find him before he could do any harm to anyone. The two Aurors nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind them.   
  
Harry knew better than to ask what that was about, although he was very curious. Shacklebolt shot him a look that told him to keep his mouth shut, and Harry slunk down in his seat ever so slightly. Now, Potter, about that article.  
  
What about it? I'm not a robe-lifter, and anyone who thinks that I am-- Kingsley cut him off, and leaned into his face, the gold earring dangling from his left ear. Potter, I don't care if you are - you've done more for the wizarding world than most. Just do your job, and find happiness in whatever place you can. Clear?  
  
Harry stood and saluted. Very clear, sir.   
  
Good. Go on your way, Potter, I've got work to do. Harry nodded, and left the office.   
  


*****   


  
Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, was buried under a literal mountain of paperwork. His tiny cubicle was stacked high with parchments to be read, sorted and filed. There was only a tiny walkway to the covered mound that was his visitor's chair, and another one to his own chair, and desk. He had a minuscule space on his desk, big enough only for a single sheet of parchment and ink. Lucky for him the door to his office opened outwards. It was his lunch hour, and he was currently working on a report investigating the smuggling of illegal cauldrons into the country. _Dip. Scratch. Scratch. Dip. Scratch._ A cough in front of him caused him to smudge the word he was writing. He set the quill down beside the page, unfolded upwards , and pushed his glasses forward.   
  
he asked the small, excited witch standing in front of him with a collections basket.   
  
We're raffling off a pair of tickets to see the Puddlemere United game on Saturday. The proceeds are going to be donated to the Widowed Witches' Fund. They're only three sickles each, and a galleon for five. Do you want to buy one? Her brown bangs bobbed excitedly as she spoke, and little flecks of spittle landed on one of his piles.  
  
Percy thought for a long minute, and checked his pockets. In it he found three sickles; he didn't really need lunch after all, and he was going to dinner at his parents tonight, so it was worth it, he supposed. Percy dug the three sickles out of his pocket, and handed it over to the witch. She smiled, and he returned it wearily. She took a ticket and ripped it in half. We're going to raffle the tickets off before the end of the day, so don't lose it. She said cheerfully; and turned to go. He shoved it in his pocket without really thinking about it.  
  
Percy got back to work, wiping away the blotted word with the Mag-i-Erase, (Useful For Students, Bureaucrats And Secret Messages) and continued on, slogging through the report that had taken up so much of his time.   
  
It grew dark, as the days do tend to do, and a bell chimed in the hall, signaling the end of another day. Percy was exhausted, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A yellow paper airplane came flying into his office, landed like a jet plane on his desk, knocking over a small stack of paper, sending it cascading onto the floor. The airplane unfolded itself, and began to speak.  
  
Percy Weasley, you are the winner of two tickets to see the Puddlemere United game in a week's time. You may pick up your tickets in the office of Magical Games and Sports.  
  
Percy sighed, loudly, and then balled up the now-defunct airplane and shoved it in his pocket. He pulled out his wand, turned down the lights, closed the door and locked it behind him, shoving on his shoulder pack as he did.   
  
Percy, where have you been, I've been waiting for you for almost fifteen minutes. Dinner's on in five minutes. He had traveled from his office to the lobby of the Ministry, and his father, red hair reacceding and much of it a gray color, sat on the edge of the fountain. Percy opened his mouth to speak, but his father forestalled that. I know, you've too much to do. Percy, you work too hard. Your mother and I--  
  
Percy gave him a look that told his father to back off.. He was fiercely proud of his Ministry accomplishments - all of them, and he didn't need his father or mother telling him how hard to work. But Percy kept his head, and took the offered floo power, saying The Burrow! into the leaping green flames, and steeling himself to the wrenching, twisting of the fireplaces.  
  
He landed with a thud, falling out the fireplace and into the Weasley living room. Fred and Angelina sat cozied up in one of the armchairs, while George and Seamus sat holding hands, talking softly in another. Percy's stomach gave a lurch watching the happy couples just be with each other. He hadn't seen Penelope since their breakup almost six months ago, and he had been too busy to pursue anyone else.  
  
Molly came rushing into the room saying Oh good, you're here we're about to start, to Percy, and then turning up the stairs and yelling . As everyone moved outside to sit near the garden, Ron and Luna, Harry, Hermione and Dean came bolting down the stairs as they tried to climb over each other in a tangle of limbs. Luna, being the shortest, was able to push down first, and ran outside. Ron gave her a kiss on the top of her head before sitting down himself.   
  
There was no acceptable start time, someone just picked up a serving spoon and scooped food onto his plate. This time, Percy was able to dig in first, taking a huge scoop of mashed potatoes, and lumping it down on his plate.  
  
The food flew fast and furious, disappearing into the mouths of still-ravenous twenty-somethings, while Percy took small, measured bites, careful to wipe his mouth after every fifth.   
  
So Percy, what's new at work? His mother asked, halfway through the meal. He had just taken a bite of the roast, and it sat, unchewed in his mouth for a good solid second while everyone stopped and stared at him, Fred and George caught mid-poke, each tickling their significant others. Percy began to sweat a little bit, as he raced to find something mildly interesting to say. he began, when Fred interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
Did you write that very interesting report on wand core lengths?  
  
Did you every finish that-- George fell into the routine every time their mother asked Percy about his work. Percy felt himself getting more and more peeved at the twins, and fought back fighting with them, for the sake of his family.  
  
Fred! George! Stop that right now, or... Molly began, before Ron or Arthur or Seamus or anyone else could join the fray on one side or another but at that exact moment, Percy had an idea. He dug the airplane out of his pocket, and began to read it. Percy Weasley, you are the winner of two tickets to see the Puddlemere United game in a week's-- He got no further, before even Fred and George fell silent at his news.  
  
Perce, you won something? Ginny told him, clearly shocked. You never win anything.  
  
Thanks, Gin. Percy said sarcastically.  
  
Who are you going to take with you? Ron asked, who had given up trying to involve Luna in the conversation.  
  
I--I haven't thought that far ahead yet. I might just go by myself.  
  
But you won two tickets-- Fred began, and then stopped, both Molly and Arthur shot him Weasley Death Glares (tm) at the same time. Smugly, Percy put the paper away, and told his mother work is fine, Mother. Thank you for your concern. The Minister keeps me busy, as always. With that, he picked up his fork and continued eating. Gradually everyone did the same.   
  
After the plates had been cleared, and everyone was chatting up a storm in the living room, a distinctive _pop_ brought Remus Lupin into the center of conversation. He looked even more tired than usual, the bags under his eyes were deeper and his clothing was even shabbier than Percy could remember it.  
  
Dumbledore's called an Order meeting. he croaked out, as Molly rushed to over to him with a glass of water. Her demeanor went from merely concerned to outright frightened when he began to falter, and Fred and Seamus caught him, and led him to a chair.  
  
Remus, you've got to get stronger before you're fit to travel again. The meeting can wait. Arthur began, and Remus shook his head doggedly. No, it can't Arthur. I've just come from headquarters, and all the members are being called in. It's for the best, trust me. This news can't wait.  
  
Molly looked at Arthur, who nodded. Alright then. Let's go. She said to Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George. They quickly said goodbye to their respective others, and in a flurry of floo powder, whisked off to the Order Headquarters. Percy wasn't a member of the Order, because of his actions during Harry's fifth year, and now it seemed superfluous to even offer his services, since You-Know-Who fell. But he did acknowledge that the Order did _some_ good, even if it was only a little bit. He could only wonder what the meeting was about.  
  
Seamus looked at him, his long hair slightly mussed from being cradled against George and said, his voice heavy, I never know whether or not he's going to come back to me, once he's called away to these meetings. I just hope and trust that he will - regardless of how he comes back - he will always be mine.  
  
Percy nodded, not really understanding what he had just said. Do you want to go to the Puddlemere game, Finnigan? Percy blurted out, and wished he could have taken it back. Seamus' face lit up though, and Percy then didn't feel quite so bad.  
  
  
  
A/N : Please remember to hit the review button at the end of reading this message. :) Many thanks to : Spike's Girl, Sunkist, Aeditimi Scriba, Piri Lupin-Snape, At-a-Loss-For-Love and Ronandchicken for their reviews of the Prologue. Chapter 2 will appear on ff.n on Dec. 13th, sometime in the afternoon, so mark your calenders. Many thanks for reading and please remember to review!


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